My favorite fall nail polish is this Chanel lacquer in the color “Precious Beige” because it offers the perfect transition from summer to fall. I also love this little fluff I found at a flea market in Oslo.

The Van Gogh & Munch exhibition in Oslo was perfect. Unfortunately I wasn’t able to take any more pictures because the security guards were hawks (I was called out for just taking this one picture).

Spending time with Daniel & Winston on the Oslo fjord:

And eating lunch together on Newbury Street at the Met Back Bay.

It has been crazy hectic here the last few weeks, and with a visit from my dad, a weekend trip to Palo Alto, and midterms coming up soon I am definitely short on time. I’ll try to keep updating the blog as often as possible, but I’m sorry if posting becomes a bit irregular.

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I feel transported to a completely different life, which isn’t completely untrue because everything here is different from Oslo. Feeling less like a fish out of water and seeing familiar faces everywhere has absolutely changed my entire experience here at Tufts. I have a strong feeling that my sophomore year will be much better than last year.

I am super excited about all my classes, which should not be taken for granted. I’m studying US foreign policy until 1900, History of Europe until 1800, and Microeconomics. However, the class I am most excited about (and actually had to interview for- whaat) is Narrative & Documentary practice. Our first assignment is to find a local High School Homecoming with a game, dance, Homecoming king and queen- basically the whole American Deal- and document it. I never had this experience, but I guess better late than never, right.

So on the whole things are looking very good. That is except the food. Its been one week and I am already tired of dining hall food. Clau (my roommate) and I just bought a fridge for the room but I am still so nervous about what I’m going to eat all the time. Or I’ll be honest and say I’m worried about how I’m going to eat all my green vegetables when all I want to eat is Chia pudding and salami sandwiches… To pump myself up a little for eating delicious and healthy food this semester I’ve scoured my lightroom for inspiration, and ALAS I found so. much. Prepare to be hungry guys. All these pictures are from Marbella, Spain.

Funny story: I actually loved these glass mugs from the Organic Restaurant and Bakery so much that I bought from them. They elevate any green juice or smoothie, and are just oh-so picture worthy.Pineapple, Mint, and green apple juice (all organic). Behind you see Monte Mayor, the mountain our neighborhood is names after. A cheese board for appetizer: My favorite thing about Spanish cuisine is the simplicity but the extraordinary tastes derived from the fresh ingredients. We used olive oil in every dish we prepared, whether it was searing these vegetables on the grill with salt, pepper, and garlic- or making the Ajo Blanco soup (almond, garlic & bread soup) which you see peeking out on the right. Not everything on the menu was healthy: Bellota ham is the most spanish of all spanish foods, and incidentally my favorite one. I’ll be dreaming of this from my dorm room, or drooling over this at the local delicatessen while my student budget makes me cry.This next dish looks a little funky so let me explain: Spicy Mango Salsa. Ok I explained. If you want any recipes leave a comment below!I know this is completely unrelated to food, but I wanted to share the colors of post-sunset Monte Mayor. See the white box by the street beneath the white house? One night we saw a wild black boar hanging out in this area. Maybe he could smell that we were eating Iberico Ham (which comes from wild black boars)… They have huge tusks and can be pretty dangerous, but luckily there was some distance between us. My two favorite people in the whole world: I’m probably dreaming of the dessert in this picture.Definitely dreaming of dessert. Dessert:Every food-lover like me needs some way to stay healthy (otherwise I would be a blueberry you’d have to roll from the dinner table every night), and the hills in Marbella are perfect for hiking and running! A couple that works out together, stays together, right? However, I am not in Marbella this fall which means I have to find some other way to stay in shape. SO I signed up for a Step Aerobics class with the most hilarious ‘Bahstun’ teacher who looks like she came out of an 80s work-out video (neon top included), and Intro to Ballet, because I could definitely use more grace in my life. But to be honest its just because I could never motivate myself to hit the gym otherwise…

I realize that this post was about lots of different things, but I hope you’ve been able to bear with me. Again, if you want any recipes just comment below!

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I won’t say much here because the article speaks for itself. Daniel sent this to me thinking I would like it. In fact, I like it so much that I am sharing it on my blog. This is something that I think about often but have been unable to articulate. It is a manifestation of the rotten underbelly of our culture, of misogyny and inequality.

By Anonymous

In first grade, a boy named John— a notorious troublemaker—systematically chased every girl in our class during recess trying to kiss her on the lips. Most gave in eventually. It was easier to give in than keep running. When it was my turn, I turned and faced him, grabbed his glasses off his weasel face, and stomped on them on the hard blacktop. He ran to the principal’s office and cried.

In fifth grade, I was asked to be a boy’s girlfriend over email. It was the first email I ever received. He actually told me he wanted to send me an email, so I went home and made an AOL account. We went to a carnival and he won me a Garfield stuffed animal, and then he gave me a 3 Doors Down CD. A few days later, he broke up with me, and asked for Garfield and the CD back. I said no.

In sixth grade, a girl in my year gave head to an eighth grader in the back of the school bus while playing Truth or Dare.

In the summer after sixth grade, I kissed a boy for the first time at sleep away camp. He was my summer love. During the end-of-the-summer dining hall announcements, where kids usually announced lost sweatshirts and Walkmen, an older girl stepped up to the microphone, tossed her hair behind her shoulders, and proudly stated, “I lost something very precious to me last night. My virginity. If anyone finds it, please let me know.” The dining hall erupted into laughter and cheers. She was barred from ever coming back to the camp again, and wasn’t allowed to say goodbye to anyone.

In seventh grade, I told my brother I decided when I was older wanted a Hummer. What I really meant was I wanted a Jeep, but I didn’t know a lot about cars. My mother overheard and screamed at me for “wanting a Hummer.”

In the summer after freshman year of high school, I went to sleepaway field hockey camp with many of my close friends. One of them, named Megan, I had been friends with since kindergarten. One night when I was showering, she ripped open the curtain and snapped a photo of me on her disposable camera. I screamed. She laughed. We both laughed when I got out of the shower a few minutes later. After camp was over, her father took the camera to the convenience store to get it developed. When he gave the finished photos back to her, he said, “Your friend [Anonymous] has grown up.”

Sophomore year of high school, one of my best friends Hilary had a party in her basement while her mom was away. We invited some of the guys in our grade and someone’s older brother bought us a handle of vodka. One of the boys who came sat next to me in Spanish class. His name was Thomas. I remember playing a simple game, where we passed the bottle of vodka around in a circle and drank. I remember being happily tipsy and having fun, to suddenly being very drunk. Thomas and I started chanting numbers in Spanish, and he leaned towards me and kissed me. We kissed in the middle of the party, with all of our friends cheering. Then we went into Hilary’s bedroom.

Hilary’s bedroom was in the basement, on the ground floor, with a large window next to her bed. When someone went outside to smoke a cigarette, they realized it was a front row seat to what was happening in the bedroom. It was dark outside, and the light on was in the bedroom. They called everyone outside to watch. I don’t remember getting undressed, but apparently we were both completely naked in Hilary’s bed. A friend of mine told me later she tried to open the door and stop what was happening, but Thomas must have locked it. They said they pounded on the door. I don’t remember hearing them pounding. I don’t remember seeing everyone’s faces outside the window. I remember Thomas holding my head down, and shoving his penis into my mouth. I remember trying to resist, pulling back, but he held his hands firmly on my head, pushing my face up and down. That’s all that I remember.

The next day, my friends and I went out to dinner at one of our favorite local restaurants. I couldn’t eat anything, and it wasn’t because I was hung over. Every time I tried to put food in my mouth, I felt like I was choking. Anytime a flash of the night before appeared in my mind, I felt like vomiting. My friends sat with me in silence. Then they told me a girl named Lindsey, who had briefly dated Thomas freshman year, had stood outside and watched the entire time. Even after everyone else stopped watching. My friends said they didn’t watch.

On Monday, Thomas and I sat next to each other in Spanish. We didn’t speak. We didn’t make eye contact. I went to the girls bathroom and threw up. I hear Lindsey and Thomas live together, now, ten years later.

Junior year of high school, my teacher for Honors Spanish was named Señor Gonzales. Señor Gonzales had all of the girls sit in the front row. Señor Gonzales called on any girl who was wearing a skirt to write on the chalkboard. Señor Gonzales asked a friend of mine, who had broken her finger playing an after school sport, if she broke her finger because “she liked it rough.” Señor Gonzales was a tenured teacher.

Senior year of high school, I got my first real boyfriend. His name was Colin. He was on the lacrosse team with Thomas. He told me that sophomore year, Thomas told everyone on the team what happened that night at Hilary’s. Everyone cheered. Colin said that, even then, he had a crush on me. Even then, he wanted to punch Thomas.

Colin and I lost our virginities to each other. Colin said if I got pregnant, he would make me have the baby. He didn’t believe in abortion. Colin said if I got pregnant, he would make me have a C-section. Colin said that if I didn’t have a C-section, my vagina would be too loose for him to ever enjoy having sex with me again. Colin said that he wouldn’t let our child breastfeed. He said his mother gave him formula, and that he turned out just fine. I didn’t get pregnant.

Junior year of college, I lived in Denmark for the spring semester and studied at the University of Copenhagen. Copenhagen is one of the safest cities in the world. Guns are illegal there. Pepper spray is illegal there. One night, my friends and I went to a concert at a crowded club in a part of the city I didn’t know very well. I brought a tiny purse with money, my apartment key, and my international cell phone. For some reason it made sense at the time to put my purse inside my friend’s purse. Maybe I didn’t feel like carrying it. We were both drinking. My friend left the concert to go home with her boyfriend. One by one, everyone I was there with left the concert, until I was suddenly alone and I realized I didn’t have my purse, or any money for a cab ride home.

I started walking in the direction that felt right. I walked for a long time. I had no idea where I was, and didn’t recognize the area. It was almost 4 am. I was on a residential street when a cab pulled up next to me. I asked the driver if he could drive me to an intersection down the street from my apartment.

I don’t have any money, I said.

I really need your help, I said.

I will do it for free, he said.

Sit in the front, he said.

I sat in the front. We drove in silence for some time, until he pulled over on the side of a dark street.

I don’t want to do it for free anymore, he said.

He locked the car doors and reached across the center console and slipped his hand up my skirt. He grabbed my vagina. Hard. I pushed his hand away and unlocked the door. I ran down the street and realized he had taken me a block away from the intersection I wanted. I walked to my apartment and threw rocks at my roommate’s window until she let me inside. She yelled at me for waking her up. I escaped. Nothing happened. I was fine.

The summer after I graduated college I helped Hilary find an internship. She was an art major and wanted something for her resume besides waitressing. We found a posting on Craigslist to be a studio assistant for a painter in the Bronx. It was listed as an unpaid internship. The toll for the George Washington Bridge was twelve dollars, plus gas, but she got the internship anyway. She wanted the experience.

The artist was a 38-year-old Canadian painter named Bradley. Hilary was 22.There was another intern there, an art student from Manhattan named Stella. Bradley needed assistants to help him make bubble wrap paintings. Stella and Hilary would take a syringe and fill the tiny bubbles with different color paints until it formed a mosaic. Bradley always had Hilary stay after Stella left to clean the paintbrushes and syringes. He told Hilary she was beautiful. More beautiful than his wife, who he only married for citizenship. He told Hilary they had a loveless marriage. He told Hilary he wanted to have her beautiful children. They began an affair. He told Hilary has wife knew and didn’t care. He told Hilary he was going to leave his wife soon.

Everyday Hilary drove to the Bronx, cleaned Bradley’s paintbrushes, and had sex on the studio floor. Everyday she went home with no money, and everyday she paid the toll at the George Washington Bridge. She needed the internship for her resume, she said. It was too late to find a new job, she said.

I could go on. I could tell you a lot more. About the whistles on the sidewalk, the kids who sat at the bottom of the stairs in high school to look up our skirts, my friend who was a prostitute in South Carolina, the men who’ve cornered me in parking lots and bars calling me a tease, the unwanted grabbing on the subway, the many times my father has called me fat, the time I traveled to the Philippines and discovered Western men pay preteen locals to spend the week in their hotel, the messages on OKCupid asking to “fart in my mouth.” About how I wasn’t sure if I had been raped because I was drunk and kissed Thomas back. How he raped my mouth and not my vagina, so that must not be rape. How easy it was for me to escape the dark street in Copenhagen, and how that made it not matter since “it could’ve been worse.”

Men have no idea what it takes to be a woman. To grin and bear it and persevere. The constant state of war, navigating the relentless obstacle course of testosterone and misogyny, where they think we are property to be owned and plowed. But we’re not. We are people, just like them. Equals, in fact, or at least that’s the core of what feminism is still trying to achieve. The job is not over. We’ve made great progress. There are female CEOs, though not very many. There are females writing for the New York Times and winning Pulitzer prizes, though not very many. There are female politicians, though not very many. But these advances are only on paper. The job won’t be over until equality permeates the air we breathe, the streets we walk and the homes we live in.

I think back to how easy it was for me, in first grade, to feel fearless and strong in my conviction to stomp on John’s glasses. I felt right in reacting how I did, because John’s behavior was wrong. But his was an elementary learning of the wide boundaries his gender would go on to afford him. For me, it would never again be so easy.

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Today I’m flying back to Boston. It seems surreal that I have already spent a year at Tufts University. In Boston everything I knew became unfamiliar and everyone I knew scattered to different parts of the world. One year has passed, yet it seems like I am right where I started but also eons away. I created this list after being in Boston for half a semester, but for some reason it became buried in my Draft pile. In light of my return I wanted to share this with you.

Here is the Hate/Love list:

Love:

1.Variety- there are so. many. options. I never knew choosing a toothpaste or eyeliner could be difficult, but the other day I spent 10 minutes finding one eyeliner amongst 100 different types. It was a struggle.
2. The people. On the whole people here are very friendly. You don’t get weird looks if you strike up a conversation with someone, as you absolutely would in Scandinavia.
3. The seafood. Boston is famous for it, and now I know why. (but always ask the MP for Lobster. I had to pay $70 for a lobster dinner last fall because I ignorantly forgot to ask. That is a mistake I will never repeat.)
4. Everything is open late!
5. The Charles River.
6. The delicatessen Cardullo’s at Harvard square. In fact;
7. Harvard square. Very hip, and has some wonderful restaurants and cafes- Crema and Beats Hotel are some favorites.
8. Stores are open on Sundays!! This means we can get on with our days, and not stay confined to our dorm rooms or tiny apartments.

Hate:

1. Swamp weather. Leaving your room after perfecting your makeup and turning into a sweaty mess is (perhaps) the worst thing about Boston.
2. U.S. Legal paper. What is this shitty square paper?
3. Drinking age is 21. Really U.S? I can buy a gun and drive a car but I can’t drink a glass of wine at a restaurant.
4. The crazy air conditioning! This was mostly relevant a few weeks ago when there was a heat stroke. The difference between the inside and outside temperatures was MUCH higher than the recommended 2 degrees C. I don’t approve.
5. Lack of licorice. I’m gonna need to stack up when I go home…

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On the whole I have been fairly successful with these goals. I have made delicious spicy shrimp tempura maki and some damn good (if I may say so myself) passionfruit drinks. There is still much I have to learn, but with the informal cocktail education I am seeking, I let myself learn drink by drink. These recipes are featured in Terje Ommunsen’s cookbook “Thaimani”.

Kumquat Caipirinha Recipe (Serves 1):

1/5 lime (I used 1/3)

4 kumquats

1 ts sugar

crushed ice

2 cl passoa

2 cl brown tequila

grape soda (I used grape juice)

Cut the kumquats in 2 and crush them with lime and sugar in a mortar. Fill the glass with crushed ice and add the passoa and tequila. Fill with grape soda.

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London: the fashionable, vibrant, and rainy city that everyone loves. It is a vast city that can not be explored in a weekend, which was the time we had, but we did get a good taste. It was exactly what I needed at the perfect time and I am so glad I got to explore with some of my best friends. To tell the truth, I am dying to study abroad there next fall, so keep your fingers crossed for me!Of course I wore my favorite Rag & Bone hat! It was difficult to dress for the weather so I ended up being less fashionable than I had hoped (or packed) for, but that didn’t stop us from having lots of fun. The first day we walked around and went shopping for a bit. We had an amazing sushi dinner and just enjoyed our time together.Definitely controversial- which is why I loved it.I wore my favorite DVF coat and Sandro silk shirt:Anna and Caro posing for the picture. Little did they know that I wanted to capture a picture of the red-head in the background, hehe.The essentials. The market in Notting Hill was amazing! There was everything from homemade donuts to vintage cameras. I absolutely recommend a trip there if you’re in London, just mind that there are hundreds of people who also visit.

These pictures just capture a few moments from the trip, but it was truly incredible. Hopefully this will be the beginning of lots of posts about London. Stay tuned :)

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1. Not being afraid to explore alone: My flight to Oslo was much later than Lily’s flight, so I was left with 6 hours to spare in Nice. I could either stay in the airport and read, or store my suitcase and travel to Nice. Obviously I chose the latter. It was a crazy day: I had only slept 3 hours and was highly sleep deprived. I was late back to the airport (in typical Nora fashion) and forgot to stow liquids in my suitcase so I was forced to throw some things out. It was a major face palm moment. Of course, because I am always cold on airplanes I also forget a jacket. A silk scarf was quite literally my savior. BUT exploring Nice was worth it, and I would do it all again if I had to choose.

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You know you’ve arrived in Nice when you see pink buildings and the bright blue sky.

Once Upon a Time in Chateau de La Napoule:

Henry and Marie Clews, a wealthy couple from New York, rebuilt and remodeled the Chateau in Mandelieu and infused the estate with their artistic and eccentric personalities. Their lives personify mysticism and fairy tales, which makes “Once Upon a Time” very fitting words to have over their main entrance. Henry Clews came from a New York aristocratic family, but despising the bourgeoisie (even more than he hated feminism) he moved to southern France to pursue an artistic life away from his art critics and the corrupt rich. I can’t decide if I like this guy or not. He was a product of his time, but misogyny is never ok. This photo below is of the ceiling of their large dining room, and if you look closely you will see that there are indeed cards glued to the ceiling. The story of Henry and Marie Clews ends like this: their coffins, designed by Henry, had “doors” which were slightly ajar so their souls could meet each other in the after light. It is rumored that every 100 years their souls meet in the secret room in the top of the tower under which they are buried.I found this gem in Cannes and think I must stay there one day. Nice in the morning:I think they tried for Vogue, but fell a little short.

Now I am wishing I was back on the French Riviera…

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The perfect outfit I can imagine is one where a bold accessory takes the spotlight. Over the last few years I have tried to acquire as many of these accessories as possible, which has in turn made my closet full of feathers, sequins, silks, and sky-high heels. I’m 5’11 but don’t think that will stop me from wearing some fabulous shoes. Luckily, I have a wonderful and supportive boyfriend who encourages me to wear heels, even if I’m taller than him. Michael Kors wouldn’t be happy with me; according to him a closet should be “30% meat and 70% potatoes.” I think my collection is more like 60/40, but he doesn’t have to know. For my day out in Oslo, however, I chose to wear flat shoes that were better suited to the lunch and museum visit we had planned. Ironically, the blisters I got from these new shoes made them hurt more than heels. It doesn’t matter, they were worth it.

I found these shoes in the FABI store on Via del Corso in Rome last spring, but because they are so particular I haven’t been able to wear them much since then. The shoes are made of leather, satin, and white and black (faux) studded pearls.

I recently bought this jewel of a coat in Madrid. I had packed for 30 degrees weather but when we arrived it was 15 degrees and drizzling rain. Biggest weather letdown I have ever experienced. My mom and I were cold for 2 days straight. We found this coat (blue/grey for her and emerald for me) on the last day in Madrid so it didn’t help too much against the cold, but better late than never, right? The lining is a luxurious green silk that makes the coat feel like satin against the skin. It is absolutely my new favorite staple piece. What I’m wearing: Coat: Max & Co.; Pants: Noir ; Shoes: Barracuda, Top: Maje; Bag: Stella

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I don’t know what to say after so many months of being quiet, and I feel compelled to issue an apology for ignoring my blog. I stopped blogging over the summer because I did not like the content I was creating. It became easier to share pictures on Instagram because it was largely a non-verbal medium. Blogging is different. It makes me feel exposed and bare. It became easy for me over time to gloss over what I really wanted to say by publishing glossy pictures of vacations and outfits. I don’t regret sharing anything, but it started to feel superficial and insincere. An acquaintance told me recently that she was surprised to learn that I am goofy and don’t take myself too seriously; my blog had led her to believe I was pretentious. I became worried that people I was meeting in Boston would judge me for who I may seem to be through my blog. I couldn’t find the words I was looking for, so it became easier to stop publishing at all.

I have decided to start blogging again. I am not ashamed of my passions: photography, fashion, literature, and traveling. I am not ashamed for being a romantic at heart, and for seeking new experiences and adventures. Right now I am sitting in a cozy hotel by a lake in Haugastøl where my family and I are about to embark on a nature and sports vacation in Norway. I am wearing probably the ugliest shoes you could imagine, baggy rain pants, and a fuzzy fleece. I am immensely happy.

Looking forward with this new direction and purpose makes me excited, and I can’t wait to show you everything that has been brewing in my head and laying dormant in my Lightroom.

In light of going back to my original purpose and roots, if you will, I wanted to share these symbolic and personal pictures from our family. Yesterday we visited what used to be my great-grandparent’s cabin in Gol. My mom spent her formative vacations at this cabin until she was 11 years old, and her childhood memories are scattered over the entire place; a rock which has remained, the lake where they went fishing, the same red exterior painting.

Next to the cabin there was a sæter where my mom collected eggs and learned to milk cows. It now lays abandoned, but these beautiful curtains have remained. How beautiful and curious that the place has kept its dignity despite being ravaged by weather and time.

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My mom has told an important story. Through her “Sens og Sans” photography workshop she met many of the asylum seekers in Oslo, and wanted to tell their story. In the end she found Yemane. Here is his story.

Yemane has lived 26 years in refugee centers.

Yemane is Ethiopian and 58 years old. When he was 17 years old he left his country embroiled in a bloody war. This is a country that does not want him back.

Yemane has been denied all his refugee applications. He does not have documentation.

Yemane has not have had a private life for the last 26 years. He shares a room of 10 square meters with a stranger.

Yemane is one of Norway's poorest. He owns almost nothing. The little he had, he lost in a fire at a refugee center some years ago. He receives 1800 kr per month, which is supposed to cover everything. Norwegian prison inmates receive 1900 kr per month, in addition to free food and medicine. They have their own room and many activities they can take part in at the prison. Yemane wonders whether it would be better for a "papirløse"like him to become a criminal?
A few years ago he was granted permission to work for two years. The only thing he wishes for now is the ability to make a living again. The Norwegian state will not allow him to work.
Yemen goes for long walks every day. This and the Bible hold him psychologically stable. He thinks that tomorrow will be better than the day today.
Yemen feels forgotten. He is beginning to feel tired.

A few of my favorite pictures from the other photographers:

I am so proud of my mom. When she first started seriously pursuing photography a few years ago she said her ultimate goal was to have her photographs displayed in an exhibition. Now that she has reached her goal, we can’t wait to see where she will go and what she will do.

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I love Oslo. In my mind, it is one of the best places to live – minus the weather. In early June there was one, maybe two, good days with sun. The rest of the month I spent there was 10 degrees C and rainy… But this one day with sun was one of my best days there, not least because I spent it with people I care about.

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I was finally able to catch up with Anna this week. I have missed that Danish girl more than I can articulate, and I’m sure our restaurant neighbors laughed internally at our entire catch-up conversation. I’m not surprised though, there are a lot of hilarious, embarrassing, sad, and awesome things that happen in one year. As per usual we ordered bread and butter, but in this case it was fresh (WARM) focaccia with home-made butter.

I just ate dinner but I’m hungry again just by looking at this pizza. The crust was the perfect amount of burned, the center warmed by the fire.Waiting for her “soy latte med ekstra skum vær så snill :) ” The diva hair flip move:

59.92386810.757842

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Living without a fully stocked and functioning kitchen has left me with a cooking deficit. Sometimes there is nothing better than turning ingredients into edible magic while catching up on my favorite show or listening to energizing music. It is a form of therapy. But unlike therapy, if done on a regular basis it loses its purpose, its charm. I have perhaps been going a little crazy in the kitchen these last few days. I made oatmeal cookies, granola, a whole lot of juice, avocado toast, salad(s), and a cake in just two days. Maybe I’ve saturated my patience for cooking… In any case, here are the wonderful results of my post-exam therapy session: Coconut, cinnamon, vanilla, cranberry, goji berry granola. AKA everything granola. The key to this is a pinch of sea salt. I’m a sucker for blending salt with sweet flavors, but make sure not to over-do it. I accidently cooked the granola for a bit too long in the oven, 60 instead of 50 minutes, and there is a slight burned taste to it when its eaten raw. Its wonderful with cold milk or yogurt! Add strawberries, blueberries, and raspberries to that you have the perfect breakfast.My mom and I ate brunch at Marschmanns the other day. It is a gourmet food store located in Skøyen, right outside downtown Oslo, which also has a bakery and restaurant attached. They have an amazing selection of meat and seafood, and import all types of speciality goods. My wallet can’t afford it, but if you’re going for a memorable meal then it is perfect.Brunch is a pastime in New York, but after visiting the city three times this year and having brunch every day while I’ve been there, I can swear that the poached egg I ate at Marschmanns was better than any egg I ate in NYC. And I was eating brunch at some of the most popular places in New York, so I think that says a lot. I tend to gravitate towards meatier and more “exciting” dishes on the menu, but I’m trying this new “health” thing. I don’t regret it at all because this was divine, and I didn’t roll out of the restaurant later. Double score.Some more health stuff: (but seriously this juice is better than a) cinnamon toast crunch b) waffles and c) any other delicious breakfast food, so try it!) Its also super easy. You can add more or less of any fruit, and usually I just add as much as we have to make enough juice to last through the day.

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It feels surreal to be finished with one year of college. I haven’t quite processed everything yet, but when I do I’ll be sure to tell you. That being said, there are a few things I am completely sure of. Like how “college” was not the college I had anticipated. Yes, there were days I slept in the library, and days where I had nothing to do. There were frat parties with cheap (free) beer and sticky floors and hilarious memories. There were people to meet and places to see, and ideas to digest and heavy thoughts to ponder. And yet, I can’t say that it was what I expected. It was so much more vivid and saturated.

In some ways it was better, in others worse. I hadn’t expected to feel so alone. That was the one thing that surprised me. Halfway through my first semester I had made 500 facebook friends, but not one I gravitated to in reality. It was difficult at times to cope with isolation in a foreign place, especially because I had expected (quite unrealistically) to meet a group of amazing people and become best friends in just a few months. And some people do experience that, but the high expectations mean the majority of us are left with a void where we think our best friends should fit. I forgot that the deep friendships I had forged at home were built over 6 years, not 6 weeks.

There were amazing things that happened as well. I was able to visit New York not once, but three times! I saw Montreal. I experienced five snow days. I drank wine and vodka and noodles with Daniel and his roommates for the first snowday, and we did flips into the street after the massive snowfall. I fell in love with Middle Eastern history. I learned about things I had never before considered- like Islam and Gender (isolates experiences). I found out that I am bad at math, but love economics, history, and photography. I became addicted to Yoga. I joined a sorority!

Joining Chi Omega was probably- no definitely- the best decision I made at Tufts. I rushed second semester and after that things really fell in place. I met some amazing people and saw Tufts through a different perspective. I felt like I belonged somewhere- albeit I still sticking out with my heels and bejeweled coat(s) and awkward lack of knowledge for slang and/or American culture. I still feel very much like a foreigner, but this is the state I thrive in most, being a TCK and all. I met Katherine, the best friend I made at Tufts. Our conversations about books, traveling, and photography have been a constant nourishment to me, and our mutual love for Yoga has saved me, both mentally and physically this year. The Boston winter was a bitch, and standing on sidewalks next to snow piles taller than me was ridiculously sad. But now spring has arrived, and soon summer will too.

I have 4 months before school starts again, and therefore four months to explore everything I have wanted to, yet have lacked to time to. I’m dedicating these months to reading, working out, eating healthy, exploring, learning, and everything that falls in between.

The first thing I did in Oslo was treat myself to a haircut and some highlights, which is perfect for the summer days to come. I swear by Komité in Frogner. They are simply the best and most educated when it comes to perfecting hair, and after trying almost all the stylists I can’t say there is a weak link. I always leave with a huge smile on my face. This time I even had to take a not-so-shameful selfie. I have been living off green juice, avocado toast, and tea for the last few days. I’m trying to shake that post-exam post-flight illness that crept up a few days ago. So far, so good!Avocado toast is super easy to make, but having the right ingredients is key. Make sure the bread is fresh and of high quality. Slice avocado and layer it on top toasted bread. Drizzle with a high quality olive oil and sprinkle with salt flakes and freshly ground pepper. Voilà, the perfect meal! Add a cup of coffee and green juice with that and you start the day in a perfect way.

The chocolate my parents brought back to me from Svalbard looks like it belongs in a Tiffany store. These little pieces of goodness are the perfect compliment to my afternoon coffee.

Today my mom and I went on a major “juicing spree” and cleared the isles of organic fruits and vegetables. I will upload another post in the near future with the recipe for this amazing juice. It is simply the best.The newest addition to our family. Welcome home, Leo.

This spring Tufts welcomed a “powerhouse female line up” which included Lauren Lane (recently performed at Coachella), Misterwives (remember the summer hit “Reflections”), and the headliner: Kesha. This is pretty impressive, especially for a campus which supports gender equality but since the concert’s conception in 1980 has only had onefemale headliner in 1983…

We were lucky with the amazing weather which allowed Tufts students to show off all their different Spring Fling shirts. What I loved about this day was that every group on campus had their own shirt. It proved that students don’t need to be a part of Greek life to ‘belong’ somewhere. Greek life is just another option among countless dozens. Needless to say, there was glitter everywhere. On faces, in hair, on shirts, even shot out through canons during the concert ~glitter everywhere~.

I carried my camera with my everywhere on Saturday morning, but unfortunately I was too afraid to bring it to the concert. If you (really) want to see a picture of Kesha, click here. But we all know the best pictures are those taken of friends and loved ones. Also, take note of the amazing donut floaty and the bounce castle! The day was a whirlwind of fun. Parties started at 9 in the morning and Kesha came on at 3:30, which gave plenty of time to run around campus, dance with friends, and show off the sick spring fling gear. And yes, I am referring to my fanny pack. If anyone ever told me I would wear a fanny pack in college, I would laugh at you. He He, look at how things change!

I have no artistic skills, as proved by my appalling decoration of this water bottle. Lucky Daniel got to show it off all day :PKatherine’s big and best friend Maria visited for the weekend! It was so amazing to meet the Lithuanian beauty. She studied in UCL for a year and was able to give me lots of information about it. News update: I’m planning on studying in London for a year during my Junior year, hopefully also at UCL!

This shot of Katherine has to be my favorite one from Spring Fling. It sums up the day perfectly, no explanation necessary.With my big Lily and her twin (in spirit) Isabella!Let me clarify: Chi Omega uses the greek letters 𝚾 and 𝛀, which we translated to Emoji language. Whoever thought of this had a stroke of brilliance.This is pretty embarrassing, but too damn good to not share. My face is constantly contorted like this; I don’t know how… it just ‘happens’?

I think this is one of my favorite days from my spring semester. Just 11 more days in Boston now, but this Saturday will be on my mind constantly when I’m back in Norway. It is sad to end the semester, but also a relief (or will be a relief once finals are over), and Spring Fling was the perfect way to wrap up this crazy, scary, demanding, emotional, and fun semester. Thanks to everyone who made this day amazing, and shoutout to Daniel for taking so many of these pictures!

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I was sitting at Starbucks last Wednesday working on my history essay. My nerves were everywhere, the essay was shit, and I had heaps of work in front of me. I ordered a tall coffee with splenda (because the only thing that could fuel me at that point was caffeine), but before I knew what was happening the coffee had spilled all over my computer keyboard. I travelled to Boston ($20 uber -.- ) to get my computer delivered to the Apple Store before my 1:30 class, but they were completely hopeless and couldn’t help me at all. I ended up missing both my classes that day, and felt like a complete wreck.

It was during all this despair and tangled nerves that I walked past a DVF sample sale on Newbury street. Sample Sales Never happen in Boston, but DVF was filming an episode for its reality tv series “House of DVF” so they set up the sale to have something to film. I secretly hoped I would be on camera but I kept circling the tiny store in search of the perfect pieces. Imagine: 80% sale and 50 women in one tiny store. The changing room was just one big room with women trying on different things in all corners. It was a mess, but it was also amazing.

Amidst all the cameras and DVF girls (who all looked impeccable) were shoppers like myself just trying to find the best pieces at the ridiculously low prices. After trying on half the store I had to limit my 10 beautiful finds to 2. In the end I opted for a chiffon star-printed gown with a deep v-neck, and a beautiful embellished navy coat. I have yet to wear the gown but I’ve worn my coat several times and I want to show you how it looks! Coat: DVF, Shoes: Black suede Ugg sneakers, Bag: Ralph by Ralph Lauren, Shirt: Zara, Jeans: Rag & Bone

I was only able to capture a fraction of the pure beauty of the Charles in these pictures, but imagine you are standing right there by the water. You are surrounded by both calm and crazy, a crisp breeze flutters through your hair and the smell of the blossoming flowers wafts lightly in the air like a sheet of silk that envelops everything. These pictures were impromptu. Daniel, Kelsey, and I walked from Copley to Kenmore Square after their AKPsi alumni lunch near Haymarket, and the sun was going down and everything around us was beautiful. Thank you Daniel for taking the pictures of me in front of the water. I typically prefer more form-fitting and classic coats, but I am in love with this oversized coat. The embellishments are absolutely stunning and they make the coat edgy and interesting. Its not something you wear when you want to stay quietly in the background, and you know what, sometimes it is okay to stick out of the crowd.

At the end of the week I had 1) one broken computer; 2) a new favorite coat; 3) some amazing memories with friends; 4) a deeper appreciation for the Charles river; 5) a few paper extensions that I needed but paid a hefty price for and; 6) realized how much I love photography and fashion, and decided that I have to do what I love and not feel ashamed of it. Okay, I may never be a banker or engineer but that doesn’t mean I won’t be successful and happy.

So as I promised in the beginning of the post, this is a happy ending.

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It is not everyday that your mother is invited to an awards ceremony for Norway’s most prestigious photography awards. But on the 20th of March, she was. Luckily, she was allowed to bring her loving entourage -Pappa, Kirsten and I- and although everyone loved her work we were her absolute # 1 fans.

Below is a picture from the category “Fashion and Cosmetics”. It seemed that every category was called before my mom’s “New Photographers” was introduced. Gullsnitt is an awards show that praises the giants of the industry, the photographers who have been doing both commercial and self-inspired work for years. The fact that my mom even receiving an award was an accomplishment in itself. It means she is taken seriously by some of Norway’s best photographers.

Waiting in anticipation for her category to be called up…For the artistic event, I decided to dress (perhaps) a bit more strangely than usual. And I loved it. I bought these brouges by barracuda in Rome, and this was my first time wearing them. Black and white pearls over satin? I’m constantly surprised by what works. Because they’re such statement pieces, I opted to go with a simpler outfit to tone down the look. I wore my favorite high-waisted J Brand blue denim jeans, a by malene birger black silk shirt, a Filippa K black woolen blazer, and to top it all off, my black wool Rag & Bone hat. I highly recommend investing in a high quality blazer because it goes with absolutely everything. There is a reason they call it a staple piece. The blazer fits nicely over almost every dress I own, with jeans like I’m wearing it here, or even with shorts and some bejeweled and fun sandals. You would think that wool makes it itchy and too warm, but it is quite the opposite. Wool is a self-cleansing material that barely smells, and this means less dry-cleaning & hello more savings!

These shoes are a fun twist on the classic brogue and prove that women can pull off this shoe design just as well, if not better, than men. Its not like any college guy ever in the US would wear leather shoes. Except Daniel, and thats why I’m dating him (and you know other reasons as well but shoes > personality). Back to talking about the shoes: I’m thinking they will go superbly with my short silk plum colored dress and this blazer. Or perhaps with a classic black pencil shirt and tight crop top. There are many possibilities friends, many possibilities!

~trying to be artistic~

Now for the exciting stuff: Here are my mom’s pictures being shown to an “ooing” and “awwing” crowd.

I am so proud of her, and the way she has passionately pursued what she loves. Here are the pictures she submitted. Taken in Myanmar, January 2014: